Chapter 3

When the alarm woke Kate, Cat was already awake in her arms.

“What’s that, Memere?”

“That’s an alarm clock, dear. Different ones sound different.” And she could never bear to listen to Russ’s again. “Let’s get up and go to the bathroom.” They both used the facilities, both washed their hands. She brought Cat back to the room while she dressed. Modesty was a weird idea; after all, she’d seen Cat naked many times. Changed more than one diaper. Still, Cat’s eyes on her were somewhat disturbing. She decided that Cat gave everything that much attention. She’d watched Kate prepare food as though she were memorizing her moves. But Cat’s clothes were in Bob’s room. “I’m going to fix breakfast, dear. Do you want to come watch or go get dressed?”

“I’ll get dressed.” Cat had remembered something. Ordinarily, watching Memere cook was great fun, but this was a special day. “Je vous aime, Memere.”

“And I love you, too, Catherine Angelique, ma petite fille.” Cat went and knocked at the door of Maman. Hearing nothing, she knocked again. There was stirring and bed noises. She waited.

When the knocking woke her, Jeanette untangled herself from Bob. She got up, put on her slippers and then her nightie and robe. She waited by the door until Bob had his robe on. By that time, she’d awakened enough to know that they were in Bob’s old home. The knock, however, was Cat’s. She’d recognized it.

“Bon jour, Maman. C’est le quatorze, nest-ce pas?”

“Good morning, mon chat. Do you need to go to the bathroom?” That was an important question. If Cat didn’t, Jeanette did.

“I have been. I washed my hands.” She showed her hands, although they were completely dry. For some reason, perhaps because Papa was right behind her, Maman was speaking English. She knew to answer in the language used.

“Alors, m’attends s’il tu plais.” Jeanette went into the bathroom. When she got out, Bob succeeded her. With six people in the house, the bathroom could be busy in the morning. There was, however, a half-bath downstairs. Waiting for a shower was a minor inconvenience.

“Maman, c’est le quatorze, nest-ce pas?” Yes, she checked her cell. This was the fourteenth of July. Bastille Day, which the cell didn’t tell her. The next model probably would.

“Mais oui, mon chat. Mais nous ne chanterons pas avant le petit dejeuner.” It was going to be the fourteenth all day, but Cat wasn’t of an age to wait. At least let Katherine get through breakfast and her first cup of coffee before Cat’s song. (Although Brennan coffee couldn’t make that much difference.) It would be a good idea if Kathleen and Charles ate first, too, although she had warned them, at least. “Ta memere, ta Tante Kathleen, et ton oncle Charles devront manger avant tu chantes. Tu, aussi, devra manger. Et avale!” Cat was learning, slowly, to swallow before she spoke -- actually, she was better than Bob about that -- but she was quite excited about this song. Jeanette didn’t want her singing the entire thing with her mouth full. She gave her yesterday’s clothes to wear -- she hadn’t bathed, after all -- and sent her downstairs.

Bob checked the hall before entering his room. Charles and Vi weren’t up yet, although their door looked open a crack as though they were waiting for him. Jeanette was in the process of dressing. He watched while there was anything to watch; then he began to don his own clothes. When they got down there, Mom was cooking up a storm and talking to Cat. If Cat was antsy, she was trying to hide it.

“Dining room this morning, dear. This table won’t hold six.”

“Very well,” said Jeanette. “I’ll be the waiter. You’re doing more than your share.”

“Well, dear, I know where things are. It’s not as if I had somewhere else to go.” Bob sat next to Cat and her telephone book -- they’d brought it from Chicago a couple of years ago; the local phone book was too scrawny to help. He poured syrup on her waffle, spread it around with her fork, and then used her fork and his knife to cut it into bite-sized pieces. The sausages on Cat’s plate had already been cut into thirds.

When Jeanette brought in his plate, he began on it. She joined him, but rose to get filled plates for Charles and Vi -- for Kathleen, he didn’t want to make an enemy of Charles who fought his wife’s battles. That was totally useless; Kathleen was more than capable of fighting her own. He wouldn’t want to meet Charles in a boxing ring, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Kathleen when it came to verbal battles. He went back to get his own third waffle. Mom followed him in carrying her own plate. He expected Cat to ask for more. Why not? He’d eat what she left. Instead she sat there looking antsier but making no effort to get up.

“Have you finished, Memere?” she asked. At her nod, she continued, “Charles? Tante Kathleen?” They both had finished and told her so. She got up. Before Bob could admonish her that she should ask to be excused, she began to sing.

“Allons enfants de la patrie.” She was a trifle shaky, and Charles waited until he thought he’d found her key. He did join her on the last word.

“Le jour de gloire est arrive.” Now Kathleen was singing along, too. The trio got through the whole song -- letting the first singer be the loudest.

“Oh, darling,” said Kate at the end, “that was marvelous.” And it had been. If Cat wasn’t going to challenge Marian Anderson’s reputation any time soon, neither was any other grade-school girl. And she sang incredibly well when you considered that she was Bob’s daughter.

“Sharl,” Cat said. “You can sing! I didn’t know men sang.”

“Men sing in church,” Jeanette said. “You’ve seen them. Many men sing, just not all of them.”

Kathleen thought that ‘singing better than Bob’ was damning Char with faint praise. But, after all, Cat hadn’t said that. She’d merely said that he could sing, and he certainly could.

“You mother told us the surprise you were cooking up, Cat,” Charles said. “We thought we should join you.”

“But was Memere surprised.”

“Surprised, Cat. Flabbergasted. And it was a great surprise. Now, does anybody want anything else?”

“Nothing,” said Kathleen. “I think Charles and I should do the dishes.” They did. Even rinsing off the syrup from six plates, it was no arduous task. From there, they went out to the yard without anyone else around them to overhear.

“Once, long ago,” she said, “when Bob was first married, I found how thin those walls are.” She started to pace. Charles matched her. “I don’t want Bob hearing me, hearing us.”

“Okay. But it’s all right when you can hear him?”

“When we can hear him, he is probably too busy to pay any attention to us.”

“You’ve forgotten the singing day bed.” That had been in Bob’s apartment in Grand Haven. He and Kath had shared it more than six years back.

“I remember it. He could hear it; he knew what we were doing.”

“He didn’t come in and stop us. He didn’t complain that I was despoiling his innocent sister.”

“Bob hasn’t thought of me as his innocent sister since I was in diapers. Mom claims that he was terribly fond of me then. Either that or he had an audience which hadn’t learned to talk. Bob’s favorite conversations are one-sided. Anyway, no, he didn’t come in and stop us. Instead, he and Jeanette imitated us. Still I don’t want him hearing us.”

“Okay. But, if it’s all right when he can’t hear, then why not finish you off. I had mine, and you didn’t have yours.”

“Short memory. And they trust this guy to do diagnoses of sick children. I got mine. I got mine early on.”

“Well, you could have had a second.”

“Not at that time, I couldn’t. You were too close, and it was my decision. You were perfectly happy to get a blow job after you’d given me one. Why is it different just ‘cause you’re in me? I liked it, didn’t you?” Not that she had much doubt. That was one result of watching his face. When she was having a climax, she supposed he could fake one. She doubted that he knew enough about how he looked during an orgasm to fake one for her. And, of course, there was the detail that something was in the condom when he took it off.

“Of course, I liked it. I just don’t want to have you servicing me.”

“While, on the other hand, I’m perfectly willing to have you service me. Fingers, tongue, cock, all are the instruments of my pleasure. Haven’t you figured that out by now? I keep you around to be my boy toy.”

“No, I don’t mind that.” Really, he rather enjoyed that. He didn’t want to be thought of as a gigolo, and her income was creeping up above his, but being told that he turned her on was itself a turn-on.

“So you wouldn’t mind if we did it that way again?”

“Not at all. Considering a matinee?”

“I mean at home.” But a matinee was an idea. They couldn’t at home with work to do. They might here with the others out of the house. Just Bob and Jeanette gone would do. Mom would keep Cat well away.

“Mind if I wear my glasses?”

“You want me to wear my glasses?” Where did that come from? Did he have a kink for librarians or something? He’d never asked her to wear her lab coat, and several were hanging in the closet that she would probably never wear again. On the other hand, she’d prefer him thinking that librarians were sexy than that nurses were sexy. How many librarians did he meet on his duties?

“Me wearing my glasses. You’re incredibly sexy like that, but you’d be sexier if I could see more clearly. Or would it be you that would be sexier? I would be more turned on, but you wouldn’t be any different. On the other hand, you’re definitely sexier dressed like that, and you’re still naked under your clothes.”

“You have definitely been spending too much time around Bob. You’ve gone all analytical. I get the idea. You like my looks, and you like them better when you can see.” That was fair enough; after all, she turned on the light so she could see his face. “Maybe we’ll both wear glasses.” That would give her a clearer look at his face.

The Chicago Brennans came out into the yard. Bob and Jeanette kept well away. Cat came racing over. The temperature, which had fallen to quite comfortable overnight, was fast approaching sauna levels again. That sapped Kathleen’s energy; it didn’t seem to affect seven-year-olds. Which reminded her, she’d need to finish wrapping Cat’s birthday present and sneak it to Jeanette.

“Cat, come back,” Bob yelled. “Maybe they want to be alone.”

“That’s all right,” Charles answered, “The conversation is over.” He picked Cat up, swung her around, and set her down. She raced back to her parents. Charles and Kathleen ambled after.

“Would you mind taking over child-care duties?” Bob asked. “Five adults showering in the morning is a ridiculous idea, especially when Mom serves a special breakfast. But we feel all grungy after the trip. We thought we’d take our showers now.”

“Good idea,” said Kathleen. “We might take the after-lunch shift.” Charles, who had had a shower the previous night, couldn’t see where that was going, but he kept his mouth shut. His devious wife was probably being devious. They stayed in the yard for another half hour before going inside. Cat’s books were in Bob’s room, but Kath went up to find some of her old ones. They were beyond Cat’s reading level, but she enjoyed having Charles read them to her, anyway. Bob came down in a short-sleeved shirt.

“Like you, I’ve decided to exercise my second-amendment rights.” It took Charles a moment to get ‘the right to bare arms.’ He decided it wasn’t worthy of a groan. “Bored your uncle, yet?” he asked Cat.

“We’re never bored with her. Now, she, on the other hand...”

“Looks remarkably content. You’re maybe her favorite person, among her favorites, anyway.” Mom would be ahead, and he could still remember whose side Cat took when she thought Charles had made Kathleen cry. Of course, his proposal had made Kathleen cry -- just not the way Cat thought.

“Among, certainly. This young woman seems to love all the world.” Actually, Cat was easy to entertain. What had Jeanette said? Something about making sure she didn’t hurt herself or annoy strangers. When Cat got tired of this book, she would be quite able to think up something new. Then he need only figure whether that was dangerous to her or somebody else. They could always go back to the Marseillaise.

“Snack Cat?” asked Bob. “I think Memere has a pickle.” He knew damn well that Mom had a jar of pickles. He’d checked. He’d even checked that they hadn’t spoiled. “You can wash your hands down here.” Cat ran to the downstairs half bath. “Sorry to take her away. What were you reading?” Charles showed him the Nancy Drew.

“I think it was beginning to bore her. I’ll mark the page, maybe finish it myself. Ashamed to say I want to know how it comes out.”

“No shame there. Whenever I start a mystery, I finish it. Jeanette, now, reads them all the time. Library. Local branch has a wall of mysteries and some more in the paper-back section. Always use a library for mysteries; they aren’t any good second time around. Macdonald, on the other hand, aren’t really mysteries -- crime stories, it’s fun to reread them.”

“The Brennans!” Now, Cat had come back and they followed her into the kitchen. Bob grabbed the telephone book on his way through the dining room. “Did Kath really read all of Britannica?”

“Whatever she tells you. I thought it was all; now she says she skipped parts of articles. It was over years, of course. You get bored. There’s only so much to read. It’s better than the art-history books and the economics texts. Pictures in the art-history books are better, of course. Though I had a list of pictures in Britannica, too, at one time.”

“Pictures?”

“I was post-puberty.” He gestured to Cat who was nibbling on her pickle. “Figure out what sort of pictures interested me.”

“Right.” Cat finished her pickle. She decided that Sharl wouldn’t give her another with Papa right there. She wiped her hands on the paper napkin and climbed down from her seat.

“Thank you, Papa. May I be excused?”

“Go wash your hands.” Bob picked up the saucer and rinsed it under the faucet before putting it in the dishwasher. “I wonder how often Mom runs this when she is alone.”

“I have no idea, dear. When it looks full, I run it. Does it look full?” Kate had returned to the kitchen.

“No.” He opened it to show her.

“Cat.” Charles went back into the living room. “More of the book, or do you want to do something else?”

“Book!” Cat decided. She waited for Sharl to sit down and then sat down in his lap. She was a big girl, but -- as long as Sharl didn’t make a point of it -- pretending to be a little girl who sat in laps to have books read to her was fun.

“Cat was telling me,” Kate told Bob in a voice she hoped Cat couldn’t hear, “something about a ‘Billy.’ Do you know anything about that? It happened on the train, I think.” She hadn’t been paying attention, and she felt guilty. Next time, she’d know the context.

“Woman was breast-feeding a baby on the train. Cat was fascinated. Jeanette called her off, hoping the woman wouldn’t be embarrassed. Later we talked to them. The baby was named Billy, and Cat was still fascinated when the woman was dressed. Not much interested in her, but fascinated by Billy.”

“So it was all right then?”

“I hope so. It would be ironic if Cat dissuaded someone from nursing a kid.” Cat, of course, had been breast-fed herself.

Lunch was tuna salad sandwiches. Jeanette hoped Cat wouldn’t say that they’d had them the day before. Her father’s daughter, Cat ate hers with good appetite. Cat had food dislikes, but she never got tired of something she liked. And, with chopped onions and pickles in her grandmother’s recipe, Cat would like these better. Bob added catsup to his, which was less nauseating when it wasn’t something she’d prepared. Katherine, who was a much better cook than Jeanette would ever be, looked blithe. Well, Bob was her son; she was used to his foibles. It wasn’t as though Bob had been normal and turned weird.

After lunch, she made some calls. She’d grown up in this town, and Bob had spent his high-school years here, too. She’d kept in touch with many old friends; not all of whom had moved away. Bob, pushed, had three friends he’d like to see again. Marcy Thompson Blaire was her first call. She’d been a bridesmaid after sharing many classes together.

“I’d love to see you and Cat. But you know who really needs a visit? Remember Mrs. Groghan?” She’d taught French -- the school’s one French teacher. “She is now in a nursing home, and really depressed.” So Jeanette called the nursing home. They recommended against bringing out an unrelated child. She and Bob decided to go anyway.